


The Cold and the Demonic

by Apocalypse_the_Abysswalker



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Choking, Distrust, Disturbing Themes, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, M/M, Masochism, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Pain, Painplay, Porn With Plot, Problems, Sadism, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Smut, Submission, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22962271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apocalypse_the_Abysswalker/pseuds/Apocalypse_the_Abysswalker
Summary: A Death Knight meets a Demon Hunter and they hate each other. But they find out they have a lot in common.
Relationships: Original Death Knight character/Original Demon Hunter character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	The Cold and the Demonic

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [The Cold and the Demonic (Chinese version )](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25312447) by [Eithe1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eithe1/pseuds/Eithe1)



> These characters are unique individuals with personalities that lead them to these actions. I am not trying to generalize DK or DH personalities and I don't consider any of these actions typical for them.  
> This is set somewhere during Legion but WoW lore is not described much in this fic. I focus on characters and their development.  
> Warning: contains mostly consensual stuff but some dubious consent so don't read if it disturbs you.

It was cold on Northrend but his skin was even colder. I breathed in his rotting scent that I already got used to. Rather than disgust, it has awoken desire in me. That’s how twisted I am now. My body is changed too, that we have in common, but at least I am still alive. For how long, I don’t know. The demon within me screams as I come back to this damned undead again and again. It’s _wrong_ \- but I can’t hate his cold fingers for wanting to take away my warmth.

* * *

We met in a battlefield. We were on the same side, fighting against the Burning Legion, but we ended up fighting each other. He shouted insults at me while I tried to defend myself with my warglaives against his rune sword. We both considered the other one to be deserving of death. _Monsters._ He saw me as a demon, a Legion’s pawn. A saw him, and undead, a former servant of Lich King, as somebody terrible, deserving of death for his crimes. I didn’t believe for a second that he was stripped of his free will when he did all the terrible things. And just as that, he believed that I am controlled by my demon, waiting to kill my allies.

Our allies stopped our fight before we could kill each other. _What a shame_ , I thought. I knew that wasn’t the end of it. For some time, we tried to coexist, but we could only contain the burning hatred for a limited time. Then we snuck out of the camp at night, taking no weapons, and fought under the moon. It felt good to hit him, it felt right and just. I felt like I was doing the right thing. If I couldn’t kill him, at least I would punish him. That’s what it was about at first.

I wasn’t supposed to start enjoying it when _he_ hit _me_. I fought the feeling and tried to hide it, fighting him with more resolve, determined to make his face a bloody mess. I wasn’t supposed to start thinking about how much we are alike. _We are NOT_ , I told myself again and again, and obvious lie that I couldn’t believe.

The satisfied face he makes when he hits me makes me wonder. Am _I_ the one who deserves to die? After all, I chose this fate for me. He didn’t have the choice. I am a monster corrupted by a demon. Twisted. Deserving nothing more than to be looked down upon.

Our fight was quite even until now, but I suddenly let him wrap his cold hands around my neck. He chokes me slowly, so slowly, he must enjoy to torture me like this. How pathetic I am. I could blast this undead monster with fel fire and burn him to death. Nobody could put him back together if he was just a pile of ash. I could kill him right here, right now. Instead I feel the fel fire burning in my eye sockets slowly dim. My hands drop down and I stop fighting. I am smiling. But he does not finish the killing. He lets go and takes a few steps back.

“Pathetic. You won’t even fight for your life,” he says in his cold, cruel voice.

Oh. So that’s why he stopped. He didn’t deem me worthy of being killed by him. Did I just disgust this undead abomination? Seems like that answers who is the worse of us two. It’s me.

He stares at me for minutes. I wish to know what he’s thinking. I try to read in his dead eyes while he tries to read in my flickering flames I have for eyes. We both fail.

He walks the few steps back to me and straddles my hips. I don’t dare to think of it as something more than a measure to keep me from escaping. Not like I would escape anyway.

“I fought until the last moments. For my city. For my family. And when I died, they didn’t give me the luxury of resting in peace. They raised me. Used my body against my will.”

He shared bits of his story with me- _me, his enemy_ \- and I was shocked. I knew this was how it happened but his face showed no signs of sadness or grief. It was terrifying. Now I wanted to get away. He hit my face and I saw stars. But I won’t beg him to let me go. _I chose this for myself._

„And you. You could have everything. Family, love, happiness. Yet you threw it all away. You disgust me,“ he said and hit me again. After that, the rage claimed him, and he couldn’t talk, he just growled and smashed my face with his fists.

 _He is right_. The realization hit me like a stone. It felt worse than anything physical. Hurt more than what his anger did to my body. _I deserve all of this. I deserve to die._

The worst part was that for some reason, my dick was getting hard from this. Maybe it was the sensation of having someone sit on me like that, even if for entirely different reason. Or maybe it was the helplessness, the pain, the punishment I got and deserved. I honestly didn’t know where this came from. I blushed but it wasn’t visible on the bloody mess my face was. I was praying that this guy won’t notice this. I panicked, and begun fighting him anew instead just taking it all. Trying to get him off me didn’t really work though. He was a death knight, incredibly strong. My demon made me fast and deadly but I lacked the brutal strength he got. I felt useless. To emphasize my weakness, he grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them down above my head, with just one strong hand of his. Never before I felt so powerless.

It’s all wrong. He could kill me any moment. His other arm is teasingly touching my neck. _I. Could. Die._ I keep telling myself. It doesn’t help. My dick is fully hard now and won’t come down. I try to pretend that the adrenaline rushing through my veins doesn’t feel absolutely wonderful. With all my willpower I stop myself from begging him for more. I am glad my burning eyes show no emotions.

He grabs my jaw and stares at me. _Oh no he noticed right? Please no don’t notice it, please,_ I keep chanting in my head. He leans closer and I can smell his breath. It’s smelling like rotten meat and it’s absolutely disgusting. All I want is for this to be over and to get as far as possible from him. But still, _somehow_ , I _need_ him to touch my body with his rough, damaging hands.

My face is a bleeding mess and the blood coats his hand that’s gripping my jaw. My nose must be broken. My lips are bleeding. He doesn’t seem to dislike it. _I feel like I will drown in blood but I don’t seem to dislike the fact. Just how fucked up I am?_

He licks the blood from his hand and spits it back to my face. „Disgusting.“  
Did he mean just the taste of my blood or my whole existence? I am not sure. He should have known that fel tainted every piece of my body including blood. And he could have guessed it won’t taste so good. Maybe he was curious or maybe he just wanted to humiliate me further. He moved a bit and he finally noticed my hardness.

„What the fuck is wrong with you?“ he asks. He jumps up and away from me. „I am not touching you again you creep. Who the fuck gets hard from being hit?“ It was probably a rhetorical question because we both knew what the answer was.

He awoke something long lost in me. Was it desire? I couldn’t name it but I wished he would hit me again and, well, also fuck me.

„Don’t“, I said quietly. Could he even hear it? _Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone in my darkness,_ I wanted to say but stayed quiet. All I did was watch him leave and thank my burned-out eyes for not being able to cry.

* * *

Several days later I discovered that despite his words he _will_ touch me again. I was alone near our camp and he snuck to me from behind and caught me into a very effective chokehold.

“What a lovely way to greet someone,” I tried to say but failed for the lack of oxygen. _Do. Not. Like. This. Do. Not. Like. This._ I repeated this to myself many times but by the time I was losing consciousness, my dick was rock hard again. It felt so good and I knew I got into this voluntarily. I sensed him approaching me. I could have stopped him. Now with his body pressed at mine from behind I can’t do anything but wait, at his mercy. I can’t stop him. _Do I even want to stop him_?

 _I fucking hate myself and deserve this death_ I thought as blackness enveloped me and I fell to the ground.

But he didn’t kill me. He kicked me while I lay on the ground, which awoken me. Thankfully he wasn’t wearing his plate boots that would shatter all of my bones. I let him kick me without resisting, thinking I deserve it, trying to make myself stop from liking it. _It’s wrong,_ I told myself despite how good it felt _. I am sick._

“You’re disgusting,” he kept telling me.

“You… are… the same…” I hissed through the pain. That was the truth he tried to hide from.

“You love this just as much as I do,” I said and smiled, showing him my bloody teeth. He kicked me harder but I imagined it did nothing to silence the voice in his head telling him to do all sorts of terrible things to me. I knew he’s just as twisted as I am. I earned another hard kick that might have broken some of my ribs. It felt… intoxicating. It hurt so much that I couldn’t think and that was the good part. Silencing my consciousness and the demon was a blessing to me.

“Just how fucked up are you,” he said and stared at me with disbelief.

 _“More,”_ I whispered. And he gave me more. He didn’t stop until I passed out from the pain. By then I was barely even breathing. He slapped me awake and to my shock he reached between my legs. I was too weak from the pain to stop him. It was so humiliating. He grabbed my dick and felt how hard it was. I was barely conscious. It felt like a dream.

“Just leave me here and don’t say anything,” I told him. I couldn’t take any more insults and hateful words. I couldn’t let my mind be shattered and broken like my body.

But none of that was in his mind, now was the moment that he decided to accept all of this. What he was. What I was offering. What he needed. He leaned closer to me and whispered to my ear.

“I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life,” he told me. I couldn’t believe that he could be talking about me.

It didn't take long until he decided to choke me again, but this time, with his cock. He grabbed my hair and lifted me to my knees. He had no mercy as he fucked my throat. I whined in protest but that only made him go deeper and be more forceful. After all, I wasn't supposed to take pleasure in this. He didn't let me breathe and I wondered if I'm going to die now, choking on a stranger's cock. I didn't particularly like the thought, but my body loved every second of this abuse. There is saliva mixed with lots of blood in my mouth. I'm bleeding from the beating, all wet and warm around his dick. He moans in pleasure and lets me take a few breaths before suffocating me again. My vision is swimming and I am not sure if I can take it but I have to. He won't let me go even if I wanted it to stop.

He tests me. Pushes to see how far I would let him go. He wants to know if I am his, if he can do whatever he wants with me. I probably still disgust him. He can play with this broken body however he wants. I will show him that I won't resist. But I won't let him touch my mind. My demon won't let him.

The best part is that nobody would ask any questions. We are at a warfront. I am expected to be bloody and bruised often. If somebody notices me sneaking out at nights, nobody cares. Nobody ever cared about me since I became a demon hunter. I sneak out every night to see my undead, knowing that he, too, doesn't care, but at least he will be there to fulfill my desires.

* * *

And it doesn't take long from that for him to start fucking me. It's not similar to anything I experienced. It's humiliating. Partly unwanted. But I go to him and seek it, which is enough of a proof that I want it. He never prepares me. He just shoves his hardness inside me, all while his rough hands hit me and choke me. It is not supposed to feel good. I shouldn't seek this. But I can't do anything else. I can't live without it. Sometimes, he brings a knife and I have to trust him not to slice my throat. I no longer have any dignity and self-value. I let him fuck me while holding the knife at my throat. I am not even afraid of him ending my life. Is it trust or do I not care if I live or die? I don't know. Don't care. That's how low I sunk.

Often, I wondered why he had to be so cold and ruthless. Why he did such intimate things with me if he hated me so much. I couldn't bring myself to ask him. I suppose it didn't really matter that much. The real question was, why did I always came crawling back to him for more.

Sometimes he used his rune sword on me. It wasn't a play, it was real- I got cut so badly that I couldn't get up and walk back to camp. I was shaking and bleeding out but perhaps for luck, perhaps his intention, I always somewhat recovered after a few hours, never needing medics to carry me back. He never helped me. It was an unspoken deal between us; he got to do anything he wanted with me but only because I allowed it. I wasn’t weak. I could handle this. I didn't need his pity after he fucked me up. My twisted body could take anything he was going to do with it.

But I wasn't quite sure about my mind. People started staring. And whispering. They thought I couldn't hear them but my senses were sharp. It was only expectable, when I kept arriving to the camp in the middle of the night, beaten and bleeding, even on days that we clearly weren’t fighting any demons. Nobody asked if I was okay, they looked at me like there was something seriously wrong with me. Which wasn't incorrect of course.

I felt like the only one who understood me was him, despite the fact that we rarely talked. He never stayed with me for too long and I wondered if I was really not worth anyone's time, if this is all I was going to get in my life- _can I sink any lower? Probably not._ Despite him always walking away from me like I was nothing, I always followed him anywhere he went, waiting patiently for him to be in the mood to destroy me a bit.

* * *

So, when the fight against Legion ended, I followed him to the cold Northrend. Maybe it was like a home to him, I didn't know. There among all the snow and icy wind I thought I was going to die for sure. When he pressed me to the cold ground, I wished I was already dead like him.

"I can't take this. I'm going to die," I whispered. As if he cared if I lived or died. He undressed me and didn't even let me put my clothes under me to separate me from the way too cold ground. He pressed my face into the frozen dirt and soon it was so numb from the cold that I couldn't feel it. He had me on my knees as always, pushing his cold dick inside me without preparing me. I was shaking, but not from the cold, not from the pain, but from relief. This is what I need.

"Harder," I managed to whisper and he complied, grabbing my hair and smashing my face against the cold ground while fucking me mercilessly. He twisted my arm behind my back, twisting it further and further until I screamed and screamed, and then it snapped. I lost my mind, I can't really remember anything else than the blinding pain. I had been gone from my mind for some time, and when I came back to my senses, I was alone, cold and hurting, covered in cum, some of it mine, some of it his. I would have really frozen to death there if it wasn't for my abilities that could conjure felfire. I built myself a shelter and a fireplace to rest and recover for a while. It was difficult because I could only use one arm. I would have to get that fixed and then, I can search for him again.

He wasn't far. After I found myself a healer that fixed my arm, I found him just in a few days. I knew that he wouldn't really leave me behind, he may despise me but he still needs me. His attempts to run away from me are half-hearted at best. When he saw me, he laughed.

"Do you really wish to die that much?" he asked.

"No, I just... I want.... More, please," I said with a shaking voice, sounding pathetic. Maybe, he will really kill me this time. He might not be bluffing.

Dying is a small price for such exquisite pleasure.

He has me bound and helpless in seconds with icy chains that he somehow controls, and he has me choking without even lifting a finger. What kind of unholy power is that, I dared not to ask. Tendrils of dark energy coil around my throat and even lift me up by my neck, until I feel my consciousness slipping away. My wings are chained too so I can't lift myself in the air to escape the choking hold on my neck. Just before I pass out, I am dropped to the ground.

"Why are you following me? Why are you like this?" he asks while straddling me and hitting my face with his plate covered fists. It feels like being hit by a hammer. I love it. I can't bring myself to reply, but he doesn't seem to mind. At some point he breaks my nose, and I feel like I am drowning in my blood, yeah, just like that one time before. It's disgusting. It tastes like fel way too much.

"More. Don't hold back," I beg him. He bites me, thankfully not biting off pieces of flesh, just biting into me. My neck and chest is going to be covered in bruises but I can't think about that now, I am focusing on the sensation of his sharp teeth on my soft skin, which breaks and bleeds at some points, and I feel my eyes rolling back, and soft moans escaping my mouth.

"Look at you. So pathetic. So broken," he says while smiling somewhat insanely. He proceeds to undress me while holding his sword at my throat. I moan when my hard dick is exposed to the freezing cold air. He moves between my legs and I realize, slightly shocked, that this is the first time he is going to fuck me like this, facing me.

Uncomfortable, I try to hide my face from him, but he won't let me. I get hit a few times and he grabs my jaw and forces me to look at him. It's a new kind of torture for me, and I feel so exposed to him. It's funny how I wish to hide my face and not my body. Oh, how I changed. I wish he would stop staring at me with those empty, undead eyes, studying how my expression changes when his dick enters me and he forces it all the way in.

"Don’t, just don’t," I say but he refuses to stop. I grit my teeth and try to hide how I feel but my mask -my empty expression- slips away way too fast and my face becomes a reflection of all that I feel, the pain, the pleasure, the need to be destroyed and broken down by him. He leans in closer, and I can't believe it but he kisses me. It's cold and biting but it's still a kiss and together with his dick deep inside me it sends me over the edge, I am coming, and crying, I was quite sure that my eyes couldn’t cry, and I was quite sure that these feelings in my chest were long gone too. And he does not laugh at me for being so weak and pathetic. He wipes my tears, and it's the first gentle touch I ever got from him. I am scared, I hate how threats of death do nothing to me, but my own feelings absolutely terrify me.

"Die for me," he whispers. The tip of his sword is pressing at my chest, above my heart. I am not afraid. If that is what he wants, I will give him my life. And if he raises me as an undead, maybe he will stop running away from me and I could really be with him. I close my eyes, and nod.

"Alright, just, make it slow and painful," I whisper. I am shaking. The cold steel bites my chest, but it doesn't sink in. It's only a scratch that bleeds lightly. My eyes flutter open, and his weapon is moved to the ground next to me. 

"Why are you stopping?" I ask, surprised.

"I am not going to kill you. With your body changed by fel, do you really think I could raise you as an undead? You know how low is the chance of that being possible? You know and don't care, right? You are fucking crazy, you know? Throwing your life away for nothing. Like you have no value at all. Well guess what, I need you, so that makes you pretty fucking valuable."

I was stunned. So, he is not that cold and hateful after all.

"Don't run away from me anymore," I ask with hope in my voice. "I need you, too," I add quietly, hoping he won't hear me through the howling wind. That's about all I can say despite feeling so much more.

"I won't," he simply says.

This is the closest I felt to happiness in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Not inspired by real life at all and also I don't support behavior and actions written in this fiction.  
> Thanks for reading and let me know if you liked it!


End file.
